


Better Late (Than Never)

by DovahDoes



Series: John/Nuada Meet-Cutes [2]
Category: Hellboy (Movies 2004-2008)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Although we somehow got, Attempt at Humor, Background Relationships, Hellboy is (understandably) salty, I guess somewhat of a hint of, Like reealllyyy pre-slash, Lo and behold: no one gets hurt in this fic!, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Protective Nuada, Soulmates, go figure, kind of?, rating is just for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-07 16:27:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15223118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DovahDoes/pseuds/DovahDoes
Summary: John Myers draws the short straw and is sent on an emergency mission intervention on behalf of BPRD's legal department.  Seeing his former team isn't the best surprise, but it's kind of tempered by A.) helping to stopanotherapocalypse, and B.) meeting the unexpectedly attractive Prince Nuada.That is, a guy in a parka interrupts the pivotal battle with the Golden Army, gives Nuada a letter, and not much later, everyone kind of goes home.*(That's right, y'all. It's another meet-cute AU for my faves.)





	Better Late (Than Never)

**Author's Note:**

> Yet _another_ NxJ meet-cute outside of the Those Who Wander ‘verse. (I did warn you I have, like, an entire document of these, [last time](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13475367). Hahaha)
> 
> Anyhoot, in this AU, Hellboy still managed to get John’s transfer to Antarctica put through (Because Reasons), but John kept in contact with Liz and Abe after the fact so they could all continue commiserating about Hellboy’s ridiculous life choices.
> 
> And then the events of the Golden Army happen as in canon, basically right up until where this fic starts.

 

The sound of metal repeatedly and loudly colliding as well as the somewhat eerie bellowing of the inhuman, mechanical soldiers fill the cavernous chamber around the wayward BPRD contingent.  Pieces of the stone platform chip and crack as bisected bodies and dismembered metal limbs are haphazardly thrown in every direction by Hellboy and Johann.  Meanwhile, not too far away, Abe does his level best to physically shield Liz and her unborn children from any additional incoming danger.

The continuous stream of new soldiers shows no signs of relenting and Johann turns around in the gigantic, borrowed body to try and get an idea of exactly how long they can hope to stand against the brutal offensive.  And then, just as the non-corporeal German ex-pat feels the first tendrils of true, desperate futility, the failing machinery of his current mechanized suit begins to feel strangely sluggish in its motions.  It’s as though it’s resisting his commands, and after glancing around to ward off any opportunistic enemies, he takes notice of something odd: the same fate seems to have befallen said enemies.

 

A number of nearby golden troops seem to have fully stalled, too, the luminescent red light within them dimming but not completely dying out.  The last thing he sees before his own, temporary body malfunctions is that the wave of frozen troops is spreading outward from several specific points.

 

Or rather, there is an oddly linear sort of ‘path’ being cut from the general direction of the cavernous room’s entrance and heading right toward the two elves standing elevated on the central balcony.

 

Visual input quickly fades away, and because of the frame’s incredibly dense materials, Krauss can only _just_ make out the sound of a male tenor eking out rather harried apologies and “Excuse me!”s as the mystery person makes a beeline right for the onlooking Prince and Princess.  (At last, finding no advantage to his current predicament, Johann cuts his losses and painstakingly abandons ship to reinhabit his standard suit.)

 

By the time the warmly attired figure bursts free from the edge of the forest of impossibly large sentinels and stops just shy of the oscillating ‘stairway’ of gigantic gears, several more of the BPRD members have taken notice of the strange phenomena.

 

At this point, the lithe young man lowers the fur-lined hood of the snow-covered parka that has, thus far, happened to conceal his identity from those nearby.

 

“Fucking-!  Is th— Myers?” Hellboy exclaims in disbelief as he fluidly clambers down an unmoving, man-sized metal arm and then unloads a highly effective round straight into the lowered, glossy dome of the thing’s head.

 

The exertion-flushed BPRD agent hardly spares a look (or a thought, it would seem) for his former charge, absent-mindedly responding with an affirmative grunt as he pats down the utilitarian pockets at the front of his heavy coat.  Around him, there is a resulting cloud of tiny ice particles that fly into the air before quickly speckling the floor.

 

Liz, who’d been lucky enough to end up stood near the path John had taken across the middle of the platform, no longer has any functioning golden soldiers nearby, and shoots a perplexed, inquiring look at Abe, who simply shakes his head in the negative and lifts his shoulders in a small shrug.

 

“Hey!”  Hellboy yells again, now able to move freely, as his own final opponent has slowed to a such an extent that there is virtually no actual threat any more.  “What in the _world_ are y—”

 

Both Prince Nuada and the contingent of rebellious BPRD agents watch on in intrigue as the bundled up young man finally fishes a rather large, pristine-looking envelope out of a pocket running the length of the left side of his torso and then promptly, _loudly_ shushes the boisterous demon behind him.  The glare he turns his head to shoot at the 6-foot-tall, gun-wielding male is witheringly chastising and deadly serious.

As the human turns back around to face Nuada, he at least spares a nod in the direction of Liz and Abe suffused with a conspirational sort of exasperation.

 

At the same time as John flourishes in a bow he has had not _nearly_ enough time or training to execute properly, the newly-appeared weird guy in the diving suit can just barely be heard discreetly explaining to John’s ex-teammates that he had very likely arrived by way of either a faerie ring or a phuca portal directly from the base in Antarctica.  (Really, it’s impressively spot-on for a complete stranger to be able to deduce without knowing exactly _what_ is currently going on at the South Pole.)

 

Forcefully ignoring the lowly murmured conversation of the group nearby, John straightens up, again, and meets the Prince’s grudgingly intrigued gaze before speaking.

 

“Prince Nuada,” he starts, pausing, briefly, and internally panicking as every bit of advice about how to properly, formally address the Bethmooran scion flees his mind.

 

 _Shit_.

 

He tries again.

 

“Ah, Prince… Silverlance?  Or— Your, uh, Your Highness?  I’m Agent John Myers from the BPRD’s southernmost headquarters.  Sorry for the interruption and super long delay in response, but the legal department had a hard time getting a hold of one of the Prime Ministers over in…”

 

John takes note of the fact that the dangerous, enthralling (and _wow_ it has been _way_ too lonely down in Antarctica, it seems) elf raises a disinterested eyebrow at his rambling.  Meanwhile, several of the temporarily disabled Golden Army troops groan as they attempt to break free of the powerful elf charm John had activated earlier on his way in.

 

“Right.  You clearly don’t care what happened…  So!  Here’s the final version of the offer that you all negotiated over.”

 

The equally beautiful elf princess standing behind her older twin looks surprised by what he’s said, and shoots a subtly bewildered gaze at someone over his shoulder— likely seeing if anybody else has any idea of what exactly is happening, here.

 

In the meanwhile, the prince huffs a nearly silent breath out through his nose before settling his enrapturing, citrine-hued eyes on John with the intensity of a thousand white-hot suns as he smoothly makes his way down to the main platform.  He then effortlessly navigates the hazardous moving machinery that masquerade as a 'shortcut' to the central balcony.

 

John gulps and realizes that his parka does feel stuffier than usual when his face lights up in an uncontrollable flush as the handsome male comes to a stop just in front of him and holds out a pale, weapon-calloused hand in expectation of the envelope John has yet to release from his clammy, nervous grasp.

 

“The missive, if you would, human?” the prince prompts, tone not quite as harsh as one might expect with the phrasing he’s used.

 

As though a sizable container of ice water has doused him, the younger man comes back to the moment, suddenly clear-headed, and ends up feeling even more flustered for it, stammering as he extends his arm to finally pass off the document.

 

“Uh— yes!  Right! The, uh, the letter.  Here.”

 

Both males jolt and freeze for a moment as their hands brush while exchanging the envelope, something strange and electric stretching between them for long seconds.

 

John gasps audibly and tries to re-regulate his heartrate, which has gone skyrocketing to an almost dizzying pace.

 

The prince, however, simply steps back after unintentionally crushing the letter in his grip in a less dramatic reaction to the alarming moment.

 

“I—” John says breathlessly, before being interrupted by a pleasant voice from the raised platform a distance away.

 

“Brother…” the she-elf says, tone both awed and shocked.

 

Said brother’s eyes are still locked with John’s, even as he effortlessly opens up the remarkably unassuming envelope.  For scarcely six or seven seconds, he glances down at the dry typeface spanning the pristine, white paper, before tucking it away in a pocket at his hip.

 

“These terms,” he says, “are acceptable to me.”

 

To John, it sort of looks like the guy might not have even actually read what the terms _are_ , but that doesn’t make much sense, as the whole point of this latest of attempt of diplomatic resolution was to stop the elf’s aggressive, single-minded pursuit of his ideals by any means necessary.

 

The several-thousand-year-old Bethmooran scion simply doesn’t seem the type to get distracted just because some comically overdressed (and chronically underpaid) BPRD agent accidentally touched his hand.

 

Right?

 

“Hey,” Hellboy pipes in, gruffly, from behind him, “what the _hell_ is going on, here?  This guy’s about to start World War Three, and you waltz in here with— what— a secret message for your penpal?”

 

All around them, then, the whirr-grind of machinery painstakingly coming back to life begins to crescendo, incensing Hellboy further, and leaving John to level an unimpressed frown at him as the demon gets even _louder_.

 

“This pretentious jackass is about to unleash these gigantic murder-machines on the world if we don’t kill him or somehow get that crown, so _move aside_ and let us stop _another_ apocalypse, if you know what’s good for y—”

 

John spins around fully to glare daggers expressing a strong sentiment of ‘please stop talking _now_ ’ at Hellboy and opens his mouth to relay that very same sentiment aloud.  The words end up sticking in his throat, however, when a strong hand grips his shoulder for a moment.

 

With grace few have hope of ever matching, Nuada fluidly moves partially in front of John and addresses Hellboy directly, his cool voice cutting through the gruff, heated diatribe being pelted at the irate human.

 

“ _Actually_ ,” the prince says, sounding as though butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, “ _he_ just stopped the apocalypse, you ignorant buffoon.”

 

Oh.

_‘If that pans out, that’s some pretty damn good news to report home with.’_ John thinks, raising both his eyebrows and trying to hold back a small smile that very much wants to bloom on his face, in spite of how premature it would be without going through all the remaining official channels and procedures.

 

“And if you don’t immediately cease your obnoxious verbal assault, it will be summarily _resumed_.”

 

The threat hangs in the air for a few moments as tension seems to build between the two alpha male personalities who are all but circling one another with raised hackles.

 

“C’mon, Red,” Liz says seriously, attempting immediate placation in the face of such an unexpected Hail Mary at the end of a journey fraught with continuous peril, dire near-misses, and what feels like an unfavourably lopsided set of odds.

 

With a snarl and a stubbornly set moue, Hellboy breaks the staring contest between he and his opponent to glance momentarily over at his pregnant mate before biting out words in a grudgingly controlled tone.

 

“ _Fine_.  But you’d better call off your shiny toy soldiers— I’m sure whatever ‘deal’ you worked out with the BPRD won’t go so well if you kill four of their most prolific agents in cold blood after a cease-fire’s been called.”

 

Nuada’s hand visibly tightens on the hilt of the sword sheathed near his hip at the demon’s insolence, before loosening and falling to hang naturally, again, as he snippily responds.

 

“Hm.  _Tira, vost ith'tar_.”

 

At the unmistakable sight of the menacing, gargantuan troops fully powering down, pretty much every person not wearing the all-powerful golden crown breathes a sigh of relief.

 

“Gott sei dank,” mutters someone, sotto voce, in the sudden quiet.

 

Leaning around the armored shoulder taking up the bulk of his vision, John gives his stunned former charge another grim look and subtly shakes his head ‘no’ when the demon appears to be searching for something else to snark about.

 

With a huff, though, the other male finally subsides.

 

“Whatever,” he mutters darkly, reholstering The Samaritan.  “Not like this douchebag _literally_ killed me or anything.  Fucking BPRD.”

 

And so, in spite of the incredibly high tension that had been present in the room just a few minutes prior, its denouement is decidedly anticlimactic.

 

Hellboy retreats to the far edge of the crowded platform and waits impatiently for the rest of his team to follow, stewing in his own discontent and ire.  As the imposing figure moves away, John’s living, elven shield moves, too, and inconspicuously settles himself somewhere just behind the younger man.

 

Liz shuffles forward for a brief hug and then clasps his elbow with a wry, apologetic smile before joining her partner where he stands, scowling.

 

The ghost-guy in an old-fashioned diving suit is next, and he politely shakes John’s hand, introducing himself as Agent Johann Krauss **.** He then commends both the junior agent and the Antarctic base’s legal team for a job well done.

 

The final attendee of their impromptu New Jersey BPRD team reunion is Abe, who keeps his hands characteristically tucked behind his back, but still smiles warmly as he approaches.

 

“Are you sure you’ll be alright getting back to your headquarters with him, John?  I’m sure one of us wouldn’t mind tagging along.”

 

Both of them choose to ignore the testy snort from Hellboy.

 

Instead, feeling warmed by the concern being shown, John returns the Icthyo sapiens’ smile before waving off his worries.

 

“Nah,” he says.  “Pretty sure I’ll be fine.  I’ve made it through the last year and a half without you guys to chase off all the crazy stuff at my base, so I think I’ll be alright, thanks.  Just… let me know when you guys get wherever you’re going, if you can?  S’pretty clear you guys are super burned out— it’s _definitely_ time for a good vacation or sabbatical or whatever, it looks like.”

 

Neither confirming nor denying his former coworker’s assumptions about the ragtag bunch’s plans, Abraham simply inclines his head to the side, slightly, in acknowledgement before following his three other teammates, who have begun to wearily file out of the spacious chamber.

 

With an exhale and a bit of an unexpected, bittersweet feeling within him as his friends walk away, John takes a moment to firmly press two fingers to the metal BPRD insignia embossed over the left breast of his jacket.

 

“Alright, Narza— all’s well. We’ll be outside in a minute, so feel free to start working on that ride out of here, if you’d like.”

 

At the approaching sound of fabric shifting, John turns around, expecting to see Nuada, but he is thoroughly and completely surprised to meet the almost identically coloured eyes of Princess Nuala as she comes around to stand in front of him.

 

“I, uh,” he utters, unintelligently, feeling confused.

 

Not quite knowing what’s going on, he watches, passively, as she reaches out and grasps his still half-raised hand between both of her hers.

 

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Johnathan.”  Her brows tick downward minutely, as if she is working to figure something out.  “We shall meet again, I am sure.”

 

“Ah, yes.  It was… nice meeting you, too, Your Highness.  Are you, uh, coming with us?  Or—?"

 

With a somewhat conspirational grin, the beautiful elf releases her grasp on him and steps back, interlinking her hands in front of her body so that they are concealed by her dress’s long sleeves.

 

“Oh, no, Agent Myers.  My place is elsewhere, for now— with my Abraham, until he is certain of his place in this world.  Safe travels and be well, the both of you.”

 

At this point, the rather fine-boned and delicately built woman looks past John’s shoulder to address her brother with a sharply different tone and expression.  Her manner is stern and almost harsh, and unfortunately, half of what she says goes directly over the only remaining human’s head, as it’s in a language he doesn’t recognize.

 

“ _Na’a nostanir ei thel_ , Nuada.  _Ar na’a lueth_.  When you are ready, find me, and we will talk.”

 

She nods at them both in a barely perceptible bow before moving quickly toward the exit with a preternatural grace that seems to be innate for all elves.

 

And then they are alone among the field of immobile golden army troops.  John chances a look over at Prince Nuada, and just catches his gaze before the other male slowly breaks eye contact and gestures for John to precede him towards the cave’s entrance.

 

The young BPRD agent does so, but deliberately slows down his pace so that they can walk side-by-side.  The Bethmooran elf raises an eyebrow for a moment, seeming to perhaps prompt his new companion for an explanation for the move.

 

Feeling strangely comfortable with the other man, John gives a wide berth to a partially crouched frozen warrior in their path before drawing near again with an innocuous, somewhat cheeky query.

 

“So… how do you feel about traveling by faerie ring?  Because the faster we get back to Antarctica, the faster you can be on your way _out of_ Antarctica again.”

 

The smirk he receives in reply is an enigmatic one that sends butterflies aflutter in his stomach with embarrassing ease.

 

“Indeed?  Well, never let it be said that diplomacy is an expedient or simple process, Agent Myers.”

 

The sun seems blindingly bright as they finally pass through the exit and emerge into the open air.  As they do, John repeatedly turns over the odd statement in his head, absently pulling his hood back up and donning his fur-lined gloves.

 

Why does it almost sound as if the prince is looking for reasons to _stay_ at the Antarctic base?

 

 

_FIN_

 

 

* * *

 

 

 ** _Tira, vost ith'tar_**  - Soldiers, stand down.  _(_ Bethmooran Elvish _)_

 _ **Gott sei dank**_  - Thank God.  _(_ German  _)_  [[ lmk if Google did me dirty, y'all. I took Francais, not Deutsch.  ]]

 ** _Na’a nostanir ei thel_ , Nuada.   _Ar na’a lueth_** **-** Be kind to him, Nuada.  And be well/safe **.** _(_ Bethmooran Elvish _)_

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> That's right-- Nuala gave her brother some tough love with the kindest delivery of the 'don't fuck this up' speech ever given to somebody. haha
> 
> I also like to think that when they get back to the South Pole and Nuada's ready to just slide in as John's new man, all smooth-like, that he's thwarted by someone already trying to do the same thing. That's right, guys, I'm predictable, and my OC (and actual ice prince), Prince Chulainn, is ready to cockblock his old friend (and new romantic rival).
> 
> Because who _doesn't_ like a good love triangle, right? (The answer is John. _John_ isn't going to love that when he catches on. hahaha. Okay. Shutting up. No one cares, I know. I'll just leave this AU in fic limbo with many others that'll never see the light of day...)
> 
> Still hopping around my fandoms so I can come back for ATG's 3rd part without getting burned out. See you guys again after a few more fics! ;p  
> *
> 
> Come check out [my writing blog](https://dovahdoeswrite.tumblr.com/), where I post early fic snippets and keep you updated on what i'm working on in what fandoms!
> 
>    
> Kudos and comments are love: feel free to leave me some, kind readers~. (ღˇ◡ˇ)~♥


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